Skin Deep

Posts : 33 Join date : 2022-03-02 Age : 28

Skin Deep

APEX WORLD HEAVYweiGHT CHAMPION Finnegan Wakefield

"It doesn’t matter.

I made the rule very simple from the moment I became the APEX World Champion. I took the fighting champions creed; laid out the open invitation to anyone from any walk of life that felt themself worthy of a shot at the pinnacle -- at the master of his craft and the product of his years. The only thing they ever had to do, the qualifier, was that they first step over the last to fall before they claim their shot. All I asked for in return was that they come with every ounce of confidence they can muster -- that they bring everything that they have and give to me nothing less than their all because I am not a merciful person, nor am I a forgiving one. I don’t trade in second chances. Stepping up to me means being held to the standard I have held myself to, and coming in claiming you have nothing to prove only proves when you leave empty-handed that you have nothing to claim. What you proclaim yourself to be will only get you as far as that first step; stepping up to me means being held to a standard that demands you evolve. I don’t give a fuck about who you are, where it is you came from, your credentials or lack thereof -- the moths don’t matter to the flame they’re drawn to, and evolution's biggest mistake was to allow them the belief that they don’t burn all the same. That being said, somewhere down the line people seem to have taken it upon themselves to add their own little prerequisites and stipulations, their own little twist on the rule -- a Mandela Effect of who they believe governs the champion that I am and the rules I have set in motion. Before even the subject of Bea Haverts being worthy and whatever nepotism is pulling strings, it’s been a neverending parade of people trying to dictate to me what duty of care I should have as the man carrying the top prize of the company on his shoulder. Aren projected his definition of prestige for the champion to carry. Stark prattled on with comparisons to Darkane and some other asinine bullshit. And even now it would seem the likes of Jason Long, Emmanuelle, and even newcomers in Chelsea Creed, Ultra Kyoto, and of course yourself Bea, who believe me to be playing into their game -- playing to their rules. Bunch of dumb cunts pissing against the wind. Wolves don’t concern themselves with the opinions of sheep -- and as much as I adore that little twist you had on that adage; you do not find yourself in that upper echelon. A sheep that glammed herself up, getting married into status, prancing around dressed for the part but can only ever dream to play it, is a sheep all the same. To your credit, you found a way to get so many people wrapped around your little finger; afraid to upset the precious little snowflake. If only you were that individual. As far as the subject of nepotism is concerned and all the people that are up in arms about you sleeping your way to a title shot; I want to direct your attention to the three words that opened this candid and I want you to dedicate them to memory.

It doesn’t matter.

And ultimately, you don’t matter.

No three words could bring more ruin to your precious little world. Not whether or not you're loved, whether or not your name is met with hatred -- total and utter indifference to who you are. That’s the point I really want to drive home -- the reason that I don’t care for these ideas of nepotism regardless of their validity because to me; what difference does it make? Nothing could be more inconsequential than to have your sugar daddy give you a pass to cut the line, making other people mad while I feel no flicker of emotion whatsoever. You have no intrinsic value as the next to face me. And you've only stepped up as a product of your vanity and the security of the ring on your finger. How far do you truly believe that will take you? How much longer can you use that defence mechanism of not actually wanting what you can't achieve? How irreplaceable do you believe you are, living in that Barbies dilemma -- all think they're special when there are thousands on the shelf with slight alterations, but Barbies all the same? Or do you plan for that nepotism to carry you like a Jeffrie Star; where you can paint your face, sell your brand, and advance your career depending on who is wrapped around your little finger; but there is a laundry list of character defects that even all the lip filler and botox can't hide. To be inspired by you, to #BeLikeBea as it were, is to sell yourself as something priceless to a man that finds the value behind the name to be utterly worthless. While Matt Miles seems completely happy neck-deep in that particular sunk cost fallacy, I didn’t shy away from verbally dismantling his last pet project in Liz Karlson, and I am far less intimidated by whatever threat comes from the same to you. I'll even go ahead and push my paycheck back across the desk; consider it an early wedding gift to fix the damages so the trophy wife can remain presentable. No repercussion that can possibly come from these events could do anything more than give me but another reason to be what I am. You entertained having this championship stripped away, that I get kicked out the door, but I would love nothing more than to see how that plays out for you, and can only promise that it won't be how you fantasies it. I would love to see what happens if they tried to snatch this championship from me, cheat it from me -- because that will give me nothing left to lose, and I am more than willing to flip that proverbial coin. I will dare you to fucking call it. That ass of yours -- 6 out of 10, not interested and marrying into better -- is writing checks your husband-to-be’s credit cards can’t cash. These scathing little insults are skin deep, and that seems to be the threshold of your value and to that, you’re struggling to make me feel anything other than pity for you.

Because it will not matter.

At the end of all things, Bea; what are we but a story? We are afforded nothing but a beginning and an end. And you feel all the pages between will only have me remembered as a good wrestler? You think I will ever allow that to be the story I leave behind? Perhaps you're right about one thing, those that suffer for what they desire might be gluttons for punishment but I will be the first to admit that as a sin of mine. Suffering builds character; but you are one fucking silly bitch if you believe what I am is merely a character in a self-aggrandizing tale. There is no delusion, no main character syndrome; what I am is a man that has gone this far down and isn't afraid in the slightest to go a little further. When my time comes, when the 10 bells symbolize my final contributions to this word -- I will die a professional wrestler, and what is wrong with that? But the one thing I will never be is forgotten. I will live forever as a legacy, a name in the history books that will be immortalized -- an idea that is passed along for generations that'll outlive all of us. Holding this championship means when historians look back on APEX, they're going to have no choice but to remember everything I have done, remember everything that I am. The images of me holding this championship, blood pouring down my face, will be a story of not some mere good wrestler -- but a man who took no shame dying a wrestler. But no one gives a fuck when a socialite dies, sweetheart. When you gain those angel wings, when you're standing at the pearly gates and looking down upon the world waiting for it to flood with tears -- the world will be unchanged. Nothing but dry eyes and people going about their day like nothing of value was lost. You'll find you weren't the axis on which the world spun, the universe hadn't actually revolved around your incessant bitch-fits. Your name is but a tally on my legacy, one indifferent from all that came before and all that will come after. You are but a brief moment in time when you stepped up, into the limelight, saw a glimpse of the peak before I send you right back to the bottom, groveling at the feet of your man after I tear away your angel wings.

And remind you that you didn't matter."